


One Shots with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

by postmodernvamp



Category: 21st Century CE RPF, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez - Fandom, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: AOC - Freeform, American Politics, Angst and Romance, College, Cutting, Dancing, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Nyctophobia, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Party, Politics, Romance, Self-Harm, US Senate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-16 11:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodernvamp/pseuds/postmodernvamp
Summary: The title says it all—random one shots featuring everyone's favourite congresswoman to stan, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez! Feedback and requests are welcome.





	1. Netflix & Nyctophobia (AOC x Nyctophobic!Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Key: 
> 
> Y/N - Your name  
> F/S - Favourite show  
> 

What a feeling it is when having arrived home one Friday evening after a long, eventful day, you are finally able to collapse into the soft, inviting couch cushions, not having to worry about anything—that is, until the phone rings.

“Oh, gosh, who is it?” you groan, reaching for your phone and wresting it from your pocket. Unlocking it, you realized it to be your girlfriend calling. “Oh, hey, Alexandria,” you answered with a smile on your face, getting up from the couch and beginning to pace around the modest living room, a habit of yours

“Hey! What’s up?” she replied in her usual upbeat tone.

“Not much,” you sighed, “Just got home. I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“Long day, huh?” the congresswoman replied.

“Yeah, and you too by the looks of it. I was listening to the radio on the way home, and they mentioned you.

“Oh, did they, now?” she giggled.

“Yeah, they were talking about the government shutdown—”

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna stop you right there. It has been forever since I’ve had even a little bit of a free time, and I am not eager to spend it talking about work over the phone with you. _Instead_ , how about _you_ come over to my place, and _we_ can have a nice stay-at-home date night. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you replied, the smile evident in your voice.

“Sweet! See you there. Be safe.”

“I will, don’t worry. Cya,” you replied, hanging up the phone.

You quickly gathered up all the things you thought you might need, brushing your hair and deciding on a nice casual outfit and prepared to head out the door, pausing for a moment to consider bringing your umbrella. Deciding against it, you went out the door, jumped into the car, and made your way over to your girlfriend’s apartment.

Much to your dismay, however, about halfway there, rain started pouring down. You could barely see anything even with the windshield wipers on the max setting, but making sure to drive slowly and carefully, you eventually made it there in one piece.

 _“How could I forget to bring an extra change of clothes?”_ you cursed yourself.

Parking the car as close to AOC’s apartment building as you could manage, you grabbed your things and bolted out of the car and towards the door to her apartment building with the ice-cold rain belting down on you the whole way there, ruining your hair and your outfit. _“All that time and effort—what a waste,”_ you thought.

You quickly ran inside the apartment building, nearly tripping on the sidewalk as you did so, and once inside, despite only having been out in the rain for a few seconds, you were dripping wet. You did your best to dry off your jacket, holding it outside the door and shaking it off, and dried your shoes off on the floor, but it was to little avail; you were still soaked—and shivering.

“Well, this sucks,” you said to yourself, walking up the stairs to AOC’s floor and desperately attempting to fix your hair to no avail. Knocking on her door, you chuckled. _“How will she react?”_ you wondered.

“Hey!” AOC said, opening the door, not expecting to see you in such a disheveled state, “Oh, wow … Come in, let’s get you dried off, you poor thing; you must be freezing,” she said, taking your hand and ushering you down the hall and into her bathroom. Grabbing a towel from the rack, she handed it to you. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you said, starting to dry your hair and face.

“One sec., she said, stepping out of the room only to return a moment later with a fresh set of pajamas, “Here, these are mine, but you can wear them. While you’re changing I’ll go ahead and get some popcorn going, and we can get this night started!”

“Sounds great,” you smiled, and she exited the room.

You sighed, “What did I do to deserve her?” you asked yourself. You never would have imagined yourself being with someone as sweet as her, much less someone as prestigious as a U.S. congresswoman until you experienced it yourself, and even then you struggled to believe something so surreal. After drying yourself to your satisfaction, you looked in the mirror, almost wanting to cry. _“She has everything,”_ you thought, _“Smart, beautiful, kind. I’m so out of her league. Why would someone already so busy like her waste their time on me?”_

“(Y/N)! You okay in there?” you heard AOC yell from down the hall, snapping you back to reality. You didn’t how long you had been daydreaming.

“J-just a moment!” you yelled back, rushing to finish changing.

Opening the door to the bathroom, your nose was met with the aroma of buttery popcorn, and your mouth started to water. Making your way down the hall to the living room, you saw AOC curled up on the couch under a blanket with a large bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. The rain refused to yield, you saw, looking out the window, and you could hear the occasional crack of thunder. You could not help but wonder whether the power would go out. You were deathly afraid of the dark, so you would be in big trouble if it did. That wasn’t something you wanted to think about, so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

“The rain’s still going strong, it seems,” you sighed.

Hearing your voice, AOC turned around. “There you are!” she said, “I was starting to worry.” You remained fixated on the window. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Come on, let’s lay on the couch together. _I’ve got a nice warm blanket,_ ” she said, tapping on the empty space next to her on the sofa. Still quite cold, you eagerly sat down on the couch, crawling under the blanket, and snuggling up against AOC. Grabbing the remote, she turned on the TV and went to Netflix.

“So, what do you wanna watch?” she asked, “I’ll be okay with whatever you choose.”

You thought for a moment. “Hmm. How about we watch ... (F/S)?”

“Fine by me,” she smiled, selecting the show and playing your current episode.

You were oblivious to the stress  _and_ happiness this night would bring.

“Hey, Alexandria,” you said in an unmistakably concerned tone of voice, looking up at her.

“Yes?” she replied.

“D-do you think the power will go out?” you asked.

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

You tried to think of an excuse. “Just wondering. Wouldn’t want our night to be interrupted.”

“Don’t worry. I doubt it will happen,” she said, “But even if it does, we can find always something else to do or just go to bed—whatever you want.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, taking in the soothing noises of the rainstorm. You just couldn’t tell her. You were too embarrassed, worried over whether she would think of you as childish or as immature, but when the exact thing you feared happened, you couldn’t keep up the facade anymore.

Suddenly, you could no longer hear the television, and you opened your eyes to complete darkness. You froze, your eyes darting around, searching desperately for any semblance of light—there was none—and then your instincts kicked in. You knew of no other way to react than to retreat under the safety of the blanket, fully covering yourself. The dark was something you had always been afraid of, and you were used to dealing with it in this very way—and _alone_.

“Well, I guess you were right, AOC muttered. You gave her no reply, still hiding under the blanket. “(Y/N)?” she called out, feeling around for you. You could feel her hands over the blanket. “Huh? What are you doing under there?” she laughed. You didn’t answer. “Hey,” her tone grew more concerned,” Are—are you afraid of the dark?” she asked, confused. Your mind froze to a halt. “It’s nothing you be ashamed of, you know,” she said, moving closer to you, still hiding under your blanket, “We all have fears and phobias, even me,” she laughed, “Fear is what keeps us safe. It’s a natural part of being human.”

“But … I’m not afraid of dark,” you lied.

“Then come out from under there,” she laughed, attempting to pull the blanket off of you.

“No!” you yelled. You grabbed onto the edges of the blanket and held on like your life depended on it, unwilling to let yourself be exposed to the darkness, as if there was something out there, waiting patiently for its chance to attack. Then, realizing how suspicious you made yourself seem, you mustered up an excuse, “Well, it’s just—I’m cold. It’s warm under here.”

“Oh, come on, just admit it,” she chucked, “Look, I won’t judge you or make fun of you. Just be honest with me, okay? Otherwise, I can’t help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you mumbled, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “This is how I’ve always dealt with it. You wouldn’t understand anyway,” you said, sniffling and wiping away your tears.

“Are—are you crying?” asked AOC, “Oh, you poor thing. Okay, I’ll go get a flashlight—”

“No,” you begged, “Don’t go, please. Stay here.”

“Aw, you’re so adorable, but seriously, I have no idea when the power is going to come back on, so if you want some light now, I’ll have to go get a flashlight. I don’t imagine hiding under that blanket all night would be ideal.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, “I’m used to it. This is what I’ve always done.”

“Just how long has this been going on?” she asked.

“Ever since I was a kid … It’s childish isn’t? You don’t even need to say it. I know this is usually something people outgrow pretty quickly, but I just never have. And it’s not that I’m necessarily afraid of the dark as such. It just makes me feel out of control in whatever situation I’m in, and I have no idea what could be in there, as anxious as I am.”

“I’m so sorry,” AOC replied, “I’m not going to pretend like I have a complete understanding of what you go through, because I simply don’t, but you don’t have to deal with this all by yourself. “Please,” she begged, beginning to cry, “let me help you.”

“No, please don’t cry,” you said, feeling guilty, “Oh, this is all my fault. I’m so useless—”

“No,” she said, matter-of-factly, “You’re not useless. Don’t say such silly things. It’s my fault. I don’t know how I didn’t realize. I should have known, shouldn’t have let you deal with this all alone,” she sighed, “Actually, I can already see where this is gonna go; let’s not argue … Can—can I come under there with you? We can cuddle under the blanket until the power comes back on.”

“That sounds nice,” you said, smiling, slowly lifting the blanket to allow her to crawl under.

“Maybe this well help,” she said, situating herself, “Come on, rest your head on my chest and close your eyes. Just relax and focus on your breathing.”

You did as she asked and felt immediately comforted by her warmth, letting out a deep sigh, but suddenly you heard a noise from outside.

“W-what was that?” you asked her.

“Shh, it's just the wind. Everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered, rubbing your head and making your whole body tingle in satisfaction. “Just relax and clear your mind. Let all your stress and fear melt away. Nothing matters outside this blanket.”

She always had a way of making you safe and secure, regardless of the situation. You began to let yourself relax, doing your best not to think about the darkness outside.

“I love you," you whispered, nuzzling your head up against her.

“I love you too, she replied, continuing to rub your head, and with that, you began to fall into a deep, satisfying sleep.


	2. Double-Edged (AOC x Self-Harming!Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Graphic description of self-harm. If you're easily upset by this kind of stuff, then I wouldn't recommend for you to read this story.

It had been a terrible day, and when you got home you were anxious beyond belief, the day’s events repeating themselves over and over again in your head. You wanted to scream, but more importantly, you wanted to  _ cut _ .

“Oh, thank God, she’s not here,” you sighed, opening the door to your home, thankful that your girlfriend Alexandria, who you had just recently moved in with, had not come home from work yet.

Taking off your jacket and setting down your things, you rushed to the room where you hid your self-harming tools and first aid materials. Taking them out you sat down, holding a double-edged razor blade in your hands, inspecting it, and caressing it with your fingers. You often wondered how such a small, unwieldy little thing could hold so much influence over you, and the thought never became any less frightening. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but submit to its power over and over again.

You had your clean streaks—and that was commendable in itself—though they rarely lasted for very long. You were always coming back to this, and with each cut, it became harder and harder to imagine quitting for good.

You knew you probably  _ could _ do it, but did you really want to? You stood there simply staring at the blade for a while, just thinking. About quitting. About all the times you’ve done this in the past. About Alexandria. About her smile. You shuddered at the thought of her, such a successful, confident woman—everything you aspired to be; she was your opposite.

_ “How would she feel,” _ you wondered,  _ “if she found out? Would she be able to handle it?” _ You honestly didn’t know, and so you kept it hidden from her and basically everyone else in your life, leaving no one the wiser to the secrets that hid behind your long sleeves.

You rolled them down and pressed the silver blade’s sharper edge against the skin of your inner arm, pausing for a moment as if afraid of something you’d done so many times.

“Oh, what am I doing?” you asked yourself, struggling to go through with it. It had gotten less difficult over time, but you could hardly say that it had gotten easy. You really wanted to do it, but some part of you was revolting. You cursed yourself, “I’m so weak.” Eventually mustering up the courage, you took a deep breath, “I need this,” you sighed and pressed the blade  _ hard _ up against your skin.

It stung badly, but it felt good also. The sight of your blood flowing from the wound was exhilarating; you felt alive. Most importantly, you felt  _ something _ . No longer numb and dreamy, as if under anesthetic, the pain distracted you from everything that had happened during the day, pulling you away from the monotony. Your endorphins were flowing, and nothing else mattered.

You let out a laugh. All day, you had been wanting nothing more than to be able to come home and do this, and finally you had some relief. The more discreet method you had adopted and which you used during the day of snapping a rubber-band against your wrist to sate yourself was nice, but it just didn’t feel the same; you craved more.

You cut again and again, making several horizontal cuts across the inside of your arm. You sighed in satisfaction, enjoying the sharp pain and the sight of all the blood flowing down your arm, but suddenly, you heard a loud thud. Quickly turning in the direction of the noise, you could scarcely believe what you saw.

The door wide open, AOC stood in the doorway, her mouth agape and her purse on the floor, having clearly dropped it in shock. It was a nightmare come true.

_ “How much had she seen?” _   you wondered, but it didn’t matter. You could not possibly talk yourself out of this situation. Your arm covered in blood and a razor blade in your hand—none of the excuses you had prepared in case someone you knew got suspicious would even remotely account for the situation. You were screwed.

Not thinking rationally, you reacted like a child and quickly rolled up your sleeves, not caring if you got blood all over the inside of your shirtsleeves.

You turned to her and froze, staring at her with no idea idea of what you say, and she was the same. It felt like you two were staring at each other forever. Seconds passed as if hours, a minute like a day, but eventually she spoke.

“I. Want …” she said firmly, “an explanation of what I just saw.” Now she was beginning to cry. “Because I know I did not just see you slice up your arm with a fucking razor blade.”

You didn’t—couldn’t respond. Your eyes were wide with terror, your body shaking. You merely stared at her like a deer in headlights.

“Show me your arms,” she demanded.

“What?” you replied, not knowing what else to say,

“Show. Me. Your Arms. Now.” she said in an even firmer tone.

You sighed, looking down at the floor. Seeing no alternative, no possible way you could skirt yourself around this situation, you relented and began to slowly roll up your sleeves, allowing her to see your arms, now smeared all over with blood.

“Oh my God,” she said, approaching you, “H-how could you do this to yourself?”

You remained silent, looking down at the floor, and began to cry.

“Hey,” she said, kneeling down to face you, still sat down, clutching the blade in your hands, “It’s okay.” She put her hand on your chin and lifted your face up to meet hers. “Please don’t cry,” she begged, caressing your face and wiping away your tears.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” you asked, trying to hold back your sobs.

“No, I’m not mad,” she replied, “I was just … shocked. This wasn’t exactly something I expected to see when I got home.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“No, don’t be sorry,” she said matter-of-factly, “You. Have. No. Reason. To. Apologize. It’s not your fault that you’re going through this. This isn’t something you asked for.”

“It is,” you sobbed, “It’s all my fault. I deserve this—”

“Don’t you dare tell yourself that. I know it may not seem like it to you, but regardless of how much you’ve convinced yourself otherwise, you deserve  _ so _ much better than this. It doesn’t have to be this way (Y/N). Now, it may seem things are never going to get better, but trust me, they can, and they will.” She looked down and sighed. “But for that to happen, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. It may offer you some temporary relief in the moment, but it’s just not worth it in the long run.”

Deep down, you knew this, and the fact constantly ate at your heart. Some part of you always knew what what you were doing was horribly wrong, first manifesting with that initial cut. It took so much courage for you to make it. Such a pitiful little cut it was, but a momentous one. Never would any other cut, no matter how deep, take so much effort. You wondered if, even during the beginning of your journey, you always subconsciously knew (though you would scarcely admit it) that your cuts would always be deeper than skin, and this story would never come to a climax at the shallow end. No, your cuts would get deeper and deeper until the point when, even when you knew there was a problem, things were such that you hardly had the energy or the will to make a change.

Perhaps this whole situation, you wondered, is a bit of a double-edged sword. You were always dreading this moment, when you would be found out, and your daily thoughts were consumed with preventing its advent. Every cut you made, however, was a risk and served only to hasten it. For you, this has always been one of those things that you knew, deep down, was inevitable, but you refused to seriously consider its possibility, leaving it as nothing but a distant, shadowy fear, a desert mirage that never seemed too realistic. You pictured this moment as the worst possible thing that could happen to you—and it certainly was for the part of you that still held onto cutting—but the part of you that still retained some semblance of self-love could not be happier upon seeing the look of concern upon Alexandria’s face, the tears running down her cheek as proof of her love for you, and her gentle hand with which she wiped away yours.

You couldn’t lie—you were scared, but as you sat there looking into her teary eyes, the both of you unable to hold back your tears, you  _ wanted _ to trust her.

“Alexandria?” you said.

“Yes?” she replied, trying to smile despite her tears.

“Here,” you said, handing her the razor blade to her surprise, “the—the rest are over there,” you muttered, pointing to the open drawer where you hid your blades. “Get rid of them, please. I don’t know if I can trust myself to.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

You nodded. One side of you was very vocal in telling you that this was a very bad idea—you could not shake off the sinking feeling in your stomach—but another side knew that this was for the best. Even though you suspected that this would not be the last of such encounters with the double-edged razor blade, you knew this to be a necessary, albeit painful step forward, and even if there would no doubt be setbacks and relapses in the future, as with your previous attempts to quit, those could be dealt with in time.

“You know, (Y/N),” AOC said, standing up, as did you, “You’re really brave. I hope you always remember that. Now, come on, give me a hug,” she said, pulling you into an embrace. In that moment, you forgot completely about all the pain, physical and mental, and you never wanted it to end. You did not think about the fresh cuts, or the blood beginning to dry up on your arm, or even the events that had led you here and caused you to take that razor into your hands. You were with her, and nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and this made you feel better. Feedback is welcome.


	3. A New History of Congressional Dancing (AOC x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the whole dancing 'scandal' with AOC, I just HAD to write this one. Not as proud of it as the previous two, but I still thought it came out okay. Feedback is welcome.

On that winter night, it would have been obvious to any observer that you  _ were not _ a frequent party-goer, the introvert that you are, so when you arrived at this one, you cursed yourself upon noticing just how many people were attending, wondering how you managed to let your girlfriend convince you to come; but the answer to that was simple: she’s Alexandria, the one person who can convince you to do absolutely anything.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” AOC said. The look on your face and your firm grip on the steering betrayed the stress you had been trying so, so hard to hide yet failing so, so terribly at it. She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to, and if anyone flirts with you, just tell me, and I’ll kick their ass,” she laughed.

_ “True _ , you thought,  _ “but nothing would stop anyone from talking to me and then I would have to talk to them or else I’d seem like a bitch and then I’ll probably embarrass myself and make things even worse and look like a complete idiot and oh my god someone kill me.” _

Lost in thought like this for a while, mulling over all the bad things that could possibly happen, before you knew it, you were there, and the car was parked. You were always liable to go into autopilot mode when driving, and it never stopped being scary to snap out of it and realize that you have no memory of the past few miles of the journey.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath. You had hoped that the drive would take longer so that you would have more time to plan out the details of the night and thus minimize as much as possible the chance of embarrassment.

“It’ll be fun,” she said, giving you a nice pat on the back as you shifted to exit the car, “Just try to enjoy yourself.”

“I guess,” you muttered, stepping out of the car and locking the doors, and as usual, your brain was right on time in scrutinizing the situation, looking for every little thing that was wrong or could possibly go wrong.

You saw all the cars—tons of people—and just knew that if you did anything embarrassing,  _ everyone _ was going to hear of it.

_ “Just try to enjoy yourself,” _ you repeated her words in your head. You really wanted to, but that’s hard when, in addition to so many other things, your brain was such that, while the outfit you and Alexandria had picked out for yourself looked nice at home, it had randomly decided that it wanted to analyze every way in which it made you look fat the moment you got to the party.

“How do I look?” you asked AOC, not wanting to be as blunt as to ask ‘Does this outfit make me look fat?’ (which she would have answered ‘no’ to regardless).

“You look wonderful,” she smiled, “Try not to be so nervous.”

To give credit where credit was due, you were trying, but life isn’t as simple as that, isn’t it?

“Easier said than done,” you replied.

Alexandria frowned. “Oh, I know, but you can at least put in an effort. I’m not asking you to be a social butterfly. I just want you to have some fun. Don’t worry too much about what people will think of you. More than a few people are gonna wake up with no memory of tonight,” she joked.

You laughed, having to admit the truthfulness of her words, and they offered you some comfort. A lot of the uneasiness was still there, however, for how often is it, after all, that anyone’s anxiety is utterly rational?

“So,” you began, the two of you walking up to the building where the party was being  held, “what exactly do people, you know, do … at parties, that is?”

“Well,” she laughed, “it depends—”

“What’s so funny?” you interjected.

“Nothing,’ she said, covering her mouth as she laughed again, “It’s just that … you’re so cute when you ask such innocent questions.”

“Innocent? I’m not innocent!” you retorted.

“Oh, are you now?” she teased.

“Um …” you blushed, immediately regretting what you had just said, “Just answer my question.”

“Well, it depends,” she laughed, making you blush even more. By then you had reached the entrance to the building. She opened the door and entered behind you. “People do basically anything, from getting blackout drunk,” she said as she directed your attention to a group of people who seemed to be attempting just that, “to  _ making love _ ,” she said with a wink, and once again your eyes had no trouble finding more than one couple who seemed to have that on tonight’s agenda. “And of course,” she continued, taking your attention away from them (to whom you were probably being quite rude in staring at them for so long), “Dancing!” Her eyes lit up when she said that word, and she comically twirled around as if to imitate a ballerina. “Don’t you just love it?”

“Dancing?” you cocked your head to the side, “You can dance?”

“Well,” she paused, “I guess that depends on your definition of ‘can?’ How about you?”

You laughed. You hadn’t seen her dance before, but surely she couldn’t be worse than you, right? And you certainly had a very flexible definition of ‘can,’ what with all the ‘dancing’ to random songs you do in the privacy of your room.

“Why, of course I can dance. How scandalous of you to even ask such a question!” you said, one-half of you being sarcastic and the other half being slightly embarrassed of your dancing skills.

“Oh, my apologies,” she joked, giving a mocking curtsy, “A thousand pardons, but if I may, won’t you let me have this dance?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Now that’s an offer I cannot reject,” you said, smiling and allowing her to take your hand. She spun you around, and you giggled. You were actually starting to have some fun, and not too far into your ‘dance,’ everyone around you and what they thought of you had long since faded into distant memory in your mind. You had only Alexandria in focus, and it didn’t matter whether either of you had any formal knowledge of dancing.  You were both as amateur as they came, and yet somehow everything appeared to flow seamlessly. Perhaps it was, or perhaps you were so enamored with the sheer fun of the event to notice otherwise. The very idea of mistakes at that point would have long since been transformed into nothing but happy accidents. An unexpected twirl here or an unforeseen turn there served only to make the whole thing more interesting.

Dancing as such lost its importance, and your focus became less and less on your movements and your surroundings and much more on the connection the escapade served to further between the both of you, so much so that you did not at first notice the ever-increasing group of people who were intently watching you two, cheering you on. It was in that moment that you realized the value of parties, for even with all these people gathered together, there was not a judging eye in the room, not a word of malice. Perhaps alcohol served to facilitate that, but who knows? All that mattered was that, despite everyone’s worries, in that building was a chance to forget, to place all of your faith in today, and to not worry about what lies outside or what the future might bring—to have  _ fun _ —and certainly, if it was not fun to, after what seemed like only a moment, awake from your trance, the both of you panting from the exhaustion of your wild ‘dance routine’ and to hear the collective applause of all the people there (some drunk, some high, though it mattered not), to feel not judged but welcomed, then nothing else was.


End file.
